


Oh, Christmas Tree

by justacookieofacumberbatch (buffyholic)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 02:43:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5357963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffyholic/pseuds/justacookieofacumberbatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I saw <a href="http://justacookieofacumberbatch.tumblr.com/post/134540203784/deduce-my-heart-pretty-sure-john-is-copping-a">this</a> super cute fanart of John and Sherlock decorating a Christmas tree, and I just had to write a little something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, Christmas Tree

“Holy shit, Sherlock. It’s huge.” John’s grip faltered on the bag of shopping in his right hand, and the keys in his left simply fell to the floor.

Sherlock was mid-climb up a short step ladder, a box of baubles in hand, in front of what had to be the tallest tree John had ever seen in someone’s home. At John’s words, he simply turned his head and raised an eyebrow.

“How did you even get that up here?”

“I had it delivered, obviously.”

John stooped to pick up his keys. “Well, that would explain why our floor isn’t covered with pine needles.”

“I’ll have you know this is a Nordmann fir.”

“Oh,” John said, dropping his keys on the kitchen table. “My apologies.”

Draping his coat over one of the kitchen chairs, John went to work on putting away the shopping. He listened to Sherlock clomp up and down the ladder, sighing and humming some indeterminate tune. Once John was done, he wandered back into the sitting room, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves. The berk had even started a fire in the fireplace.

“What has you in the Christmas sp-- Jesus!”

John rushed over to Sherlock, who was on his tiptoes on the top of the ladder, straining to reach a branch near the top.

Sherlock’s heels eased down to the wood below them. “What?”

John’s fingers hovered near Sherlock’s hips as he eyed the rickety ladder under Sherlock’s feet. “You’re going to hurt yourself that way.”

“It was either this or your chair.”  Sherlock grabbed another bauble from the box cradled in his left arm and stretched himself towards another high branch.

John’s hands clapped over Sherlock’s hips, holding him steady. Unfortunately, it didn’t have quite the desired effect because Sherlock rocked backwards, and his arse cheek hit John square on the nose. Sherlock flinched, his hips pitching forwards, his shoulders pulling back, and John was forced to wrap an arm around Sherlock’s waist to keep him still.

Sherlock wobbled in John’s grip for a moment, and John heard the crush of cardboard in Sherlock’s grip. It didn’t sound like any ornaments had broken, but John couldn’t be sure since he currently had a face full of the back and arse of a certain consulting detective. He was also a bit distracted because he had just realized that one of his hands was clenched around fabric, the backs of his fingers pressed against bare skin.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock asked.

“Keeping you from falling,” John said, his voice slightly muffled by the silky fabric of the dressing gown clinging to his face.

“You ripped a button.”

“Did I?” John’s brow furrowed. He pulled his head back, but the dressing gown still clung to his face. And then, when he pulled his left hand from Sherlock’s waist, Sherlock faltered in his grip. The ladder teetered, the feet clicking against wood and thumping against carpet. He hadn’t even put the thing on level ground.

John’s hand flew around Sherlock again. This time, the hand he pulled loose was pressed to Sherlock’s breastbone, and the hand that was clenched in Sherlock’s shirt was now flat against his belly. Sherlock’s chest and stomach were heaving, and John could feel the fabric of Sherlock’s shirt stretch over the back of his hand. The skin under his fingers was covered in goosebumps.

Before John’s rational brain could intervene, his fingers spread against Sherlock’s skin, and Sherlock gasped.

John froze.

After too long of a moment of them frozen like that, John’s pinky finger a little too close to Sherlock’s waistband to be considered proper, Sherlock broke the silence.

“John?”

“Sorry.” John slowly pulled his hand from beneath Sherlock’s shirt, easing his hands away so that he wouldn’t upset Sherlock’s balanced. As he finally backed away, Sherlock’s dressing gown tried to come with him, and he batted it away.

Sherlock’s shoulders dropped, a loud breath gusting from his mouth. He stood still for quite a while, not moving to get down or to continue decorating.

It was starting to get a bit scary, so John asked, “Tea?”

“Maybe later. Thank you.”

“All right.” John pulled his elbows together behind his back, giving his chest a quick stretch before he let his own breath gust from his mouth. He collapsed into his chair, grabbing a section of the newspaper from the floor beside it. He snapped it open, determined to ignore the tingling that remained after touching Sherlock’s skin, and especially determined to ignore the view of Sherlock straining and stretching right in the middle of his field of vision.

He read the same paragraph of a front page story six times before he finally tossed the paper aside. His gaze alighted on Sherlock, the static in the dressing gown making it cling to the clothes underneath, and he blew out another breath.

Just as he stood, ready to escape to the kitchen, Sherlock once again broke the silence.

“John?”

“Yeah?”

“I wonder if… That thing you did. Could you…”

“Keep you from falling?”

“Yes, that.”

John smiled. “Sure, but could you lose the dressing gown?”


End file.
